Awakening Ablaze
by AcetoJack21
Summary: Two famous tacticians exist in the Fire Emblem Multiverse. The Genius tactician of Elibe and the amnesiac focal point in the wars of Ylisise. What if these two people were not so different? What if they were one in the same?
1. Araphan Burns

"Maps of Sacae and maps of Ilia…a light coat for the plains and a heavy coat with a hood for the tundra…some mines, a few runes, torches and salves." Mark wanted to be self-sufficient during the length of the campaign, and he was glad that Hector had provided him with his own covered wagon to carry it all. Most of his equipment was already loaded and waiting for him at the castle, all that was left were the few odds and ends still in his room. He scratched at his head, running rough hands through his dirty blonde, shoulder length hair. His eyes wandered towards the mirror in the room and he looked himself up and down. Sunken slightly into his face, the steel blue eyes glinted against fair skin. He adjusted the robes, frowning about the tightening shirt underneath. Too much relaxation and Lycia's food had contributed to his growing waistline. But, with an expected diet of rations for the next odd month, hopefully it would recede to a better spot.

Three weeks ago, his old friend had approached him with his concerns over Bern's recent military actions. Hector had asked him to be his chief strategist for the campaign to liberate the conquered nations and take the eventual fight to Bern. Mark's plan involved leaving from here in Araphan and going through Eturnia with the troops that had been assembled from the Lycian marches. From there, their work would begin in Sacae, liberating the tribes that were being held captive, and then move north into Ilia to retake those frozen lands. With the combined might of a united and free Elibe, siege on Bern would be a matter of attrition.

He closed his old war chest and scanned his small room one last time. His pack was full and he was about to go, but he was missing one last thing. He checked his dresser, around the wash bin, and bent down to check under his bed, but he just couldn't seem to fin-…

"You might be looking for this?" Mark froze as he heard the voice of his old friend coming from the doorway of his room. He turned to face Lucius; blonde hair tied back, with blue robes wrapped in his silk shawl. Clenched in his hands was a length of chain with a metal object on the end of it. It was a ring, forged of silver and with amethysts inlaid around it. Mark had found it on the Dread Isle, and was forged before even the Scouring. A look of disappointment was on the holy man's face as he gazed at the tactician. "I could have sworn I told you to get rid of this." He took a few steps further into the room. The ring swayed back and forth on the chain in rhythm with Lucius' walking as Mark stood up. Lycia's tactician swiped for the ring midair but his desire was pulled away from him. The band wasn't just some bauble Mark kept around for old time's sake.

"There's no harm in keeping it. I might actually put it on a lucky ladies finger someday." Mark gave a hollow laugh, but Lucius' face remained unchanged and it shut any humor out of the conversation quickly. "I'm…I'll be passing through Sacae on this expedition. I thought I could…could leave it where it belongs. Be rid of it." He stretched his arm out, half demanding and partly begging for the ring back, with his eyes fixed firmly on the dusty floor. He felt the cool metal fall into his hand and he clenched his closure in his fist. "Thank you."

Lucius sighed and let the chain leave his hand and it hang from Mark's. "I just pray that St. Elime watches over you, my friend." Lucius embraced Mark and the two started to descend the stairs. Mark took the chain and wrapped it around his neck, folding the ring under his coat and shirt. The children of the orphanage were playing all around the house and surprisingly behaving themselves. When Lucius founded the home for the unwanted six years ago, Mark was at the opening and blessing. Now, the home had saved so many children from across Lycia from a life on the street. He had asked the acolyte to lodge there in the weeks leading up to the start of the campaign, and it was time he left.

Wading through the sea of kids, Mark finally found the mess of green hair that belonged to his godchild, sitting in the corner and face deep into a book. As if feeling he was being watched, Lugh's eyes strayed from the tome and he jumped up when he saw his onlooker. "Is that one of my tomes you're reading through?" Lugh closed the book and held it at his side, head down, and dirt covering his yellow robes. He nodded before the aspiring animist held the tome up, Mark taking it and leafing through the pages.

 _Niech_ _piekielne_ _ognie_

 _Glazura_ _to pole i_ _zniszczyć tych,_

 _przede mną_ _i wysłać_ _je na_ _czło_

 _wieka_ _samego_ _promu_ _._

Elfire? Complex magic, even for himself. He had only begun to start on any spells more andvanced than summoning lightning. His mother and father would be proud, wherever they were. "I'm going to be gone for a long time, Lugh. I need you to watch the other children and help the Father while I'm gone, alright?" He gave Lugh a long embrace, knowing it may be a while before they saw each other aain, before he walked out the door. As he walked through the garden, Mark thought to himself to himself how nice all the flowers were coming in. The Ostian roses were blooming, and the violets from the Western Isles were finally taking. Mark's mind was so focused on the flora, as well as the preliminary plans he had cooked for entering Sacae,all while wondering if Eturnia would help with treinforcements, that he almost ran into a crimson figure. Clad fully in armor, he stood with an ivory stallion at his side, and a lance hanging from his back. Realizing who stood before him, Mark's mood soured immediately, and all good thoughts quickly leaving his mind. "The Lycian Coalition sent me here to see to it you arrived on time...and in a good condition" Kent spoke, removing his helmet to reveal steel eyes and stern, set face.

It had been years since the two men had come face to face, and if you asked either man that was many years too soon. "So, I have the honor to be escorted by the Grand Lord Steward of Caelin?" Kent's fist clenched but his expression never changed. "I take it we'll be riding together for the next months then?" "Well then, let's get going then. I'd like to see the troops that i'll be commanding for this liberation opera-..."

An explosion of noise cut Mark off. Not an explosion, though, so much as a single sound. A rattling roar that echoed through the air, a cry that both men had heard before. A dragon? How? They both realized that old grudges would have to be put aside, at least for now. How was there a dragon here in Araphan? The paladin and the tactician both lept onto the horse at Kent's side, and they raced towards the sound of the roar; Araphan's castle. On the way, Mark drew the tome he had taken from Lugh and readied it for whatever was to come. He was hoping he was strong enough now to wield it.

As they approached the castle, they saw no dragon, but there was a wide hole in the wall of the mightly place, and all hell had begun. Armored knights clashed with axe wielding fighters, soldiers dodged bolts of lightning, and arrows sailed through the sky. In the middle, Hector stood in a circle of Bern soldiers, a claymore as big as the horse Mark rode upon now clutched in his hands. He was swinging the mighty hither and yon, taking limbs and heads at will. Kent raced through to the defacto leader of Lycia, impaling soldiers upon his spear one after another. Mark leapt from the horse and brandished his tome, striking at other mages and shamans that flooded the battlefield for the Bern forces. Arcs of fire spewed from his hand and engulfed people in front of him. The prescense of the additional veterens seemed to change the tide of the fight, and the Lycian forces were able to push Bern back in victory. The Bern forces scattered and a cheer went out among the soldiers

"Get the townspeople to safety! Find the commanders and take them alive!" Kent rode south, chasing the retreating invaders, leaving Mark in the middle of the chaos. Hector strode through the troops as he spoke, until he found his old friend from the wars against the Black Fang, and clapped him on the shoulder "I'm going for the beast. I'll need your help" Mark and the Lord of Ostia strode back through into the Castle, tome and Sword drawn."I was just getting my armor ready when I heard the roar from the third story." Lord Ostia spoke as they walked. Hector looked at the weapon in his hand and dropped the mass of cold iron and leather. From his back he drew a mighty axe, with a wicked curve that was familiar to Mark. It was Wolf Beil reforged, larger and heavier it than before. No blows were to be held back in this fight, it seemed.

The doors to the grand foyer were open and the the pair ran up to find a horrible sight. Before them were the bound figures of the marquesses of Lycia. Few of them were still alive and pressed against the far wall by spear point, held there by fear of a similar fate to their counterparts. There were four outstanding figures in the room, two tall blonde men, one brunette slender figure and a purple haired woman shawled in crimson. Hector's axe was bared as he charged into the room, but he and Mark had failed to notice a fifth figure that stood, nearly hidden, amongst them. An almost timid figure, covered entirely in red robes turned to face the charging Lord. In a flash, that figure beared upon the man, the timidity replaced by a dragon, red, rage filled and breathing fire. In an instant, Hector was consumed in a pillar of flames, a scream and the clanging of metal hitting the floor, echoing in the foyer. When the fire ceased Hector lay, singed and quivering, in a pile where the flames had halted him.

"Hector!" Mark began to run to his friend, when a sharp pain erupted in his gut. Losing his balance from the pain, he fell down the stairs, caught several edges on the way down, and landing at the base of the stairs. Cringing, he saw a bolt of lightning sticking from his stomach. The tactician rose to one knee, putting too much effort into tring to focus his sight. The tallest of the men lifted Hector onto his shoulders and carried him away, as the others approached Mark with the sorceress at their side, tome in hand. He recognized the man; Zephiel, king of Bern. Harder now than he was when they last met. Even harder than their first meeting, in the palace that night of his would be assasination.

"Mark Bincagia, Baron of Ryerde. I was hoping you would show up. To be honest, I was hoping we wouldn't miss you." Mark breath was labored, heavy from the pain. The lightning had dissipated from his stomach, the wound cauterized from the bolt's heat. The burning pain remained, however,"But now that you're here we can be sure that we'll hve no problems with Eturnian resistance."

"You...you'll be stopped, Zephiel" Mark managed to gasp out. The king scoffed at the idea that there was anyone left to stop him. He turned and began to walk away, pausing briefly at his woman companion.

"Brunya, he's all yours." With those words he strode towards the door that Hector had been carried out of, the brunette following close behind. Bern's greatest sorceress pulled out a tome of ice, and Mark steadied himself on his other knee and rose up to look at the woman. Regret now filling him that his greatest work as a strategist had been cut short before it had even and ice surrounded Brunya as she unleashed it towards Mark. He closed his eyes and readied himself for death, but suddenly all flashed a bright white and Mark felt a dropping sensation in his stomach. He opened his eyes and saw the world rise above him. All was shadows, dancing about him as the last bits of light dissappeared above his head. The darkness became too much, his thoughts left him, and Mark slipped from conciousness.

"Chrom...we HAVE to do something"

"What do you suppose we do?"

"I...I dunno..."

Voices. He heard voices. That meant he was...alive? Mark opened his eyes and saw two figures standing over him. Hector? Who...who was Hector? Why did this person remind him of someone named...who were these people...and who...?

"I see you're awake now."

"Hey there."

"There's better places to np than on the ground you know. Give me your hand."


	2. The Tides of Time

Author's notes: Wow. I got a lot of great responses from the first chapter. I know there were some grammatical errors and I'm sorry about that. I was in such a rush and a joy to post my first work ever that I didn't give it that final once over. But, hopefully this will inspire me to continue on and check the grammar more.

A lot of questions about the plot and some confusion pertaining Mark's relationship with other people, but I assure you all everything is gonna get answered in time. Just keep reading and you'll find out soon. Until then, mum is the word.

* * *

"To the health of Marquess Hausen! And to Lady Lyndis!" The dozens of people in the hall raised their glasses in unison towards the pair that sat at the head of the table. Mark drank the wine in his cup and let himself ease back into his chair. He had been given the seat to Lyndis' immediate left for the feast, but he had turned it down and offered it to Florina, feeling it best for the shy rider to be sitting next to the one person she truly knew at the party. Lundgren's body, despite all the evils he had performed against his brother, was laid to rest properly in the family cemetery last afternoon. Mark now sat halfway down the Legion table, situated next to Erk and Lucius. Serra was to Erk's right and was chatting loudly and obnoxiously to Sain and Will. The mage seemed content to move his food around his plate rather than eat it, as the people around him laughed and reminisced about their experiences in the past weeks. Mark wasn't too keen on the stew he had on his plate himself, and decided now was a better time than any to secure his future after the banquet. He stretched out his arm to grab the carafe of wine and pour himself another glass.

"So, Erk. What's….next for you? After you take Serra to Ostia?" The mage put his fork down and sighed.

"Once I'm done taking Serra where she needs to go, I suppose that I should return to my master. All this was part of my training."

"That sounds...interesting." Mark shuffled around the food on his plate a bit more. "I…was wondering if you wouldn't mind me accompanying you. I know I would be a burden, but Ostia seems to be the place for study in Lycia."

So the conversation went between the two. Eventually, Serra was brought into the conversation, as Erk deemed it her decision as to whether Mark could join them. Without a second thought, Serra agreed to the tactician joining them. Unfortunately, that meant Mark would be leaving abruptly that night with the pair. Mark waited for a while at the great celebration, making small talk with the Caelin knights about the state of the land and relations with the other Lycian territories, before he stood up and walked out one of the side doors. He walked through the halls of Caelin's keep and passed by paintings of the former Marquesses. Finally, he arrived at the room where he kept what little equipment he had. A backpack with a few gold pieces and a few days of rations in it, the water skin strung to the side. The sun was starting to set on the castle as he walked out the doors. Erk had instructed him to meet the pair at the vendor across the river from the keep. He managed to get out the door and started making his way up the hill, when a voice came up from behind him. "Mark, you're leaving now, aren't you?" The tactician turned around to see Lyn standing there, arms crossed over each other, looking at Mark. Behind her was Rath upon his horse, no doubt the reason Lyn caught up to him so quickly. He dismounted soon behind Lyn, crossing arms as well. "No, I'm not asking you to say. It's just… I'll miss you. When I found you unconscious on the plains… I had no idea we would be together for so long. You've helped us so much, and I'm sure you've learned all you can from us." Mark shifted uneasy, attempting to pick his words carefully.

"It's not about learning…but, I mean it is. I mean….Lyn…" Mark shuffled his feet and looked at the ground to compose his thoughts. "When you found me on the plains in Sacae a month ago…you didn't just save me from the night, or the wolves, or roaming bandits…you saved me by giving me purpose. Now, I need to continue working on what I learned working with you." He turned away from Lyn and faced the west, looking into the setting sun. "Ever since we crossed into Lycia, I've wanted to see the rest of it. The knowledge here….the potential it can bring out in me. It can bring out my best."

"Mark, if you want to leave just leave. But don't make excuses like 'you want to learn more'! You can't be all knowing."

"But I could be, don't you see? I could be the greatest strategical mind in all of the continent. But I need to get out there if I want to be. I…" Lyn grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around, to face her.

"Stop…just please stop. I have the utmost faith that you'll be a master tactician, Mark." The Lady and Mark embraced tight. "That's from someone who's seen your work." They parted, and that's when Rath stepped forward. He unlatched, from a bandolier across his chest, a leather sheath with a small hilt protruding from it.

"Here." He grunted as he tossed the dagger to Mark. Fumbling with the catch, he finally secured the weapon in his hand. Unsheathed, Mark was surprised to find that the blade of the dagger curved, and engraved with intricate symbols and runes. "The blade is mostly for rituals and ceremonies. It's a symbol of leadership. I would think you have earned it this day." Mark was touched. Finding notches on the side of the leather, he found it easy to clip the gift onto his belt. Nodding to the Sacaen, Mark brought his pack to his shoulders and started for the vendor across the river.

"Well then, take care… I… I hope I see you again. I'm sure that I will someday…"

"We will Lyn! I'll be back. One way or another, the tides of time will wash us together again!"

* * *

"My archers clip the Illian mercenaries you hired as reinforcements. That leaves only for my mounted squadron to clean up the field of your scattered soldiers." Mark moved the pieces of his uninjured units forward and swept the scattered figures off the map for his opponent. The man across from him slumped in his chair and scratched his head in disbelief. The mayor was the only worthy opponent left in the small Pheraen village. Mark took the pieces he had bought from Tania and placed them back in his bag. "That's the third time I've bested you, Mayor. I have to admit that you put up a great fight each time," Mark took a mahogany pipe from his bag, along with a leather pouch filled with Hanon's Sinew, his preferred blend of tobacco grown by the Djute on the plains. He politely took a light from the mayor and took the time to relax. The smoke filled his mouth and he expelled it through his nostrils.

"Mark, you're a fine tactician. I know I'm no great shakes since my army days, but I feel like I haven't lost THAT much with age." The mayor glanced around the tavern. The usual drunkards were loafing about, and the ladies were waiting upon the people still conscious enough to have orders taken. One of the ladies walked up to Mark and asked for his order. She had a smile in her eyes, and he noticed her blouse had one of her blouse's brass buttons undone. As the barmaid went away, Mark seemed unfazed by anything, other than the mild expectation of the upcoming meal. "You know, you're a fine young man, Mark. Would you ever think of settling down with someone? Maybe in our sleepy village you'd find someone."

"If you're referring to Hazel over there," the tactician pointed lazily with his pipe over to the bar where the buxom brunette was giving the ticket to the cook in the back kitchen "I have no interest in her. Or in your daughter, if that was what you were hoping."

"Now, Rebecca isn't even old enough to marry yet! I'm just saying that you have to have someone in your life, studying or not." Mark sighed and placed his fingers to his temple. A lot had happened in the year after he had helped Lyndis' Legion. Ostia had provided a great place to study for about 4 months. He had gotten bored after that and travelled east, through Thria, Laus, Khathelet, avoiding Caelin however. He found himself now in Pherae mostly on a whim. Bern was next. The greatest military power on the continent may have room for a new student tactician.

Suddenly the door of the tavern was broken down, and a beast of a man stood in the doorway. "We've all heard that the knights of Pherae have vanished, right?" the man boomed. Clearly more bark than sting. Mark calmly snuffed the smoke from his pipe and placed his comfort back into his pack. "Well, your misfortune is my good luck! I have an announcement to make! As of now, this village is mine! Groznyi is your new liege!" Mark stood up and motioned for the Mayor to remain seated. He hugged the back wall and waited for this Groznyi character to enter the room and begin the demands. With him in the middle, Mark managed to slip out of the tavern and onto the streets. They wanted gold, they wouldn't find it. Time was of the essence. They might start taking lives if they didn't find enough gold. What resources did he have? A ceremonial dagger, a set of pearl figures, and a skin of water. This wasn't looking good.

"Mark!" He spun to face the voice and saw Rebecca, on a horse with a rider clad in armor, holding a javelin and what appeared to be the crest of Pherae on his horse. He ran towards her and reached for her hand and was helped upon the horse. "This man says the lord's son is on the outskirts with another knight. Come on! We can regroup and save the town!"

Finally, things can heat up again.


	3. The Arena's Eyes

Despite how cold the fight at the wall had been, the bowels of the arena ended up being stuffy and damp. Mark didn't like the idea of getting involved in this Khan's affairs just for her favor. However, he did understand that's they needed her support and elected to go along with it. He had received a layout of the arena where they would be fighting from one of the Khan's men and was pouring over it. Steps led up, and from there was nothing but flat stone. No cliffs, no advantages. This was going to end up as a knockdown fight that would drag out to a violent end. Strategy wouldn't save them from injury, but hopefully it could save their lives.

"In the end, I think it should be Fredereck, Sully and Stahl that come up with us." Mark placed small figures on the provided map, representing the cavalry. "They'll cut from the left while you, Vaike and I come around the right. Facing these opponents head on seems to be the best strategy, since we might risk getting enveloped in the middle, and circling them would be impossible. I want to try and make this battle as fast as possible."

"Sounds like a good plan, Mark. I'm not as concerned about this fight as you are to be honest. As much as I've read about the Feroxi warrior culture, we should be able to handle them well enough. I'll update Fredereck and get him to help me bring the horses up the stairs. You can brief the other three and get ready for the fight until then."

Mark was glad that one of them was confident because he had an ominous feeling being in this arena. Like something out of a dream. Even below he could hear the rush of the crowd's cheering, their eagerness and sanguine for bloodshed was disturbing. "Then again" the tactician said out loud to himself, sheathing his sword and folding it between his robes. "I do deal in death as a profession. Let's give them the show they want."

The fight had gone bad almost immediately. Stahl was a single blow from death, when Mark's head on engagement was broken apart by a greater resistance than expected, and a particularly devastating pair of mages. Only Sully and Fredereck were left attempting to clean up the mess, Stahl having fallen back so to stay safe. Chrom and his tactician were lasting only because of vulneries and luck, but the end was near. The prince of Ylisse charged to clash with the legendary Hero-King Marth. Vaike was squaring off with a knight, and Mark pulled his iron out to meet with a fighter. When struck at, Mark lifted his blade to defend himself, and when the weapons clashed his shattered in his hands. Weaponless, panicking, the tactician's eyes swept the arena floor and noticed something glimmering on the ground nearby. He dove for it as his enemy stuck at him again, catching his leg but not hindering. His hand found a cool metal grip, and Mark rolled to his feet, thrusting in front of the enemy that had followed him. The axe wielder ran himself through and, standing for a moment in disbelief, fell back off the blade. Wiping his adversary's' blood off with his robe, Mark examined his savior; a blade of tapering steel, with a pommel of what appeared to be gold. The yellow shone in the light coming down into the arena, and it was the light that snapped Mark out of his trance. There was fighting still to be done, as Mark hurried to the middle of the arena.

* * *

"Hah! That's seven in a row! Pay up, Lyn." Irritated, the Sacaen Lady slapped a sack of gold, hard, into the tactician's hand. He would have to thank their newest hand once he exited the arena. "I don't care what kind of feelings he has for Hector and his family. Raven is going to be a huge help on the Dread Isle."

"Just because he can stand there, and swing a big sword at people coming at him doesn't mean he'll be useful out in the real world." Lyn was still understandably bitter about the deal they were forced to make, without her input, with the pirates to get to the island. Mark stood from his balcony seat and looked towards the east. Vigilantly standing in the distance, Guy rose his hand and gave him the all clear. The pirates were standing still.

"Well, no one outside the arena seems to be itching for a fight at least. It's been hours and Fargus' crew hasn't moved from their spots." He turned, and Lyn continued to stare at the empty arena grounds. It used to be easier to make her smile. "Eliwood should be up next. I know he claims to know what he's doing, but recently his style and experience has been speaking otherwise." Eliwood came out of the entrance opposite their seats, throwing his cape aside and brandishing his rapier. "I'm…glad we could save you and Lord Hausen in time." Her body language softened, arms fell from their cross and her lips less pursed. "And I'm sorry it took a wartime scenario to get around to visiting again after a year."

"It's alright. I could've made an effort to find you. I…I mean…it's good to see you again after so long. And being with you again is nice, too." Mark studied her face now, after a year of distance. They say that separation makes the heart grow fonder, but not even that could explain the emotions he was going through now. A year as a Lycian noble had done wonders for Lyn. Her posture was strait, her skin lighter from a year being away from the sun on the plains. She seemed to glow and…what was he thinking? Mark shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts. He heard the roar of the crowd, metal clashing with metal and…horses? Why were there hors-?

Suddenly out of the corner of his eye he saw it. There were four horsemen riding towards the arena and Hector striding towards them, axe bared. "Lyn…Lyn! We've got trouble!" Mark and Lyn both sprang up, and started running towards Hector, flying down the steps. As they passed the entrance, Raven and Barte began to follow them with the same stride. By the time they arrived, Hector had already downed to of the riders and was making for their leader. But with that, Fargus' pirates began to move in. The party tactician figured it was time to see if Raven could handle himself in the real world like Lyn had doubts about.

* * *

The Arena was beginning to empty at the conclusion of the fight. Mark put his back to the stone wall and sighed. They had managed to win with no casualties, which was the important part. All the western fighters had been killed, and Marth had escaped without a word to anyone. But this fight had put the Sheppards on the right track towards peace. Mark's gaze drifted towards the dark passages that lead out of the arena. There was glittering in the darkness that caught his attention. Two piercing golden points coming through the darkness. They were eyes, and they were looking right towards him. Their stares locked, and Mark felt anxious and uneasy.

"Hey! Mark, there you are!" Lissa'a voice distracted him for just enough time to blink, and when he looked back the eyes were gone. Chrom's sister ran up to him. "Everyone is healed and we're ready to head home. I can't wait to sleep in my own bed again…hey, what's that in your hand?" She lifted Mark's arm and brought the blade in his hands to eye level.

"This sword just…came to me in the fight, when I needed it most." Mark examined his savior now more closely than he had before. There were characters on the tapering steel of the blade, but they were in a language he didn't recognize or could read at all. He sheathed the new sword and walked with Lissa to where Chrom and the rest of the company were conversing with Khan Flavia.

Sully, Stahl and Vaike had all decided to go to the nearest tavern and celebrate their victory, and they dragged Mark along with them to the nearest alcohol source in them. Mark had never been out drinking before, at least in his limited memory, and upon learning this the trio agreed that they were going to change that. Thy sat the young man down and proceeded to buy him several drinks, from ales to wine, and even a bottle of Ylissian Brandy that was bottled 20 years ago the owner happened to have. Mark's head was blurry and he found himself laughing at everything Vaike said. In fact, all of them were laughing their heads off at each other. They took every opportunity to toast Emmeryn, Chrom, Lissa, and even one for Fredereck the Wary. The night ended when Mark rose from his seat, almost falling back into it before speaking

"Here's to.." he paused as he steadied himself on the table "Sorry. Here's to you two; Sully and Sain. You bashtards are great fun. Thankshs for bringing me out tonight." Laughing, he downed the wine in his cup and he collapsed over, passed out on the ground. The three Sheppards laughed as Vaike hoisted their comrades onto his shoulders as they walked out. As they were leaving, Stahl couldn't help but wonder who Sain was, and how Mark knew him. But, by the morning, the question would leave Stahl's memory.


	4. Long for Love and Love's Release

Three burning ships lay behind them, filled with the corpses of Black Fang soldiers that had been sent to take Ninian back to the Dread Isle. The deck of Fargus' ship was slick with the blood of their enemies, and the crew was doing their best to clean the deck. Eliwood had taken the dancer below deck, but Mark and a few others were helping the crew erase the signs there was ever a struggle. From starboard came a melodic whistling, coming from a cheery figure cloaked in red. "You're never one to be off kilter for anything, are you?" The tactician came over with his own brush and began sweeping besides Matthew, who was now brushing the floor in time to his song.

"Me, Mark? Nah, this is all in a day's work for me." Matthew and Mark went on sweeping the deck and the Ostian spy began to sing; it was a song about the future, about hope, and about leaves on the wind. It was a great melody that got Mark humming along. Over the past few weeks, Mark had gotten to know Matthew a lot better, and found a kindred spirit in him. They both liked mixing the food on their plates, enjoyed games involving play on words, both liked to spend their off time reading. Matthew with his historical fictions and Mark with the history tomes from the Lycian libraries. Matthew had been good enough to give him an education on Ostia and Caelin and any other area Mark wanted to learn about. When the deck was clear of all the debris, the pair went below deck and sat down at one of the tables in the wide, central area of the ship. A bottle of wine was procured from the mess quickly, and the pair sat down to their post battle tradition.

"Here's to…" Mark stalled as he thought of who to toast. Typically, they toasted one of their lieges or one of the enemies they fought. But none of their enemy today seemed to deserve the honor, and their commanders had enough nights dedicated to them for a lifetime.

"How about we drink to the better sex." Matthew chimed in, pouring wine into each man's cup. "Here's to women. May there glasses be full, their victories great,-"

"And their patience infinite." Mark finished, bringing his drink up and meeting the Ostian's. Laughing, Matthew brought the cup to his lips and the tactician did the same. Mark coughed a bit as the wine passed his throat, questions of quality in the wine's origins finally coming to him. "Speaking of women," Mark drained his cup with effort and went to pour himself another, "I met Leila when we were in Caelin. Charming girl. I wonder how it was you ever possibly bagged her." The man across from him sighed as he eased back into his chair.

"We met when we were together on a mission in Thria, and I NEVER told you any of this." He looked as stern and serious with his words, and the tactician settled down ready for the story. "It was a simple mission, but I was still as green as Ostian armor, and I needed her help going through with what the mission was. We ended up living together for about…three weeks, I think, in a two room little shack on the outskirts of the city. About two weeks in we realized that there was a connection and after that we requested we be paired together for more missions, and we spent time on our breaks." Matthew poured the bottle dry to the last drop and downed it, before wiping his mouth. "She's been with the Fang for about seven months now. Last week was the first time I've seen her since…Anyway, listen," the spy put his cup down and made sure to lock Mark's eyes with his "I don't claim to know what's going on between you and Lyn, and yes we are going to talk about it now." The thief cut off the prepared denial that would have come from the man opposite of him. "But life is short, and war is bloody. If you were going to say anything, I'd do it sooner than later"

"Matthew…look it's…" Complicated was going to be his next word, before one of the sailors came down the stairs to announce to the bowels of the ship that land was in sight, and that everyone should come up on deck. The two shared a look that told Mark this discussion wasn't anywhere near over, and the pair walked up to the deck of the ship.

* * *

The assassins had been driven from the palace, and their leader slain. Concerned that they couldn't find the leader's corpse, Mark was outside in the gardens, meticulously searching for the enemy commander. Chrom claimed to have run Falchion right through his stomach and saw him collapse, but he refused to be convinced he was dead until he saw the proof. "Is there a problem out here, Mark?" Mark spun around, blade drawn and saw Fredereck standing there. He walked around the tactician, with axe in hand. Mark breathed a sigh of relief and sheathed his sword.

"I guess you're starting to rub off on me. I'm out here looking for the enemy." Fredereck chuckled slightly at the notion of Mark the Wary, and the two looked around the garden. They didn't manage to find the ambush leader that Chrom claimed to have slain, but felt it best to make a sweep of the area anyway. From his pocket, Mark produced a pipe, one of the few things he was found with by Chrom on the ground.

"I didn't know you smoked, Mark." Fredereck was walking around bushes, looking at his comrade with a sideways glance. Shrugging with an attitude of 'neither did I', he filled it with tobacco and struck a match. However, as he was about to light the pipe, the tactician heard a rustling in the bushes a few feet away. He glanced over to the knight next to him, who nodded in recognition of hearing it as well. The two slowed their pace, as Mark reached into his robes. In a swift motion, Fredereck launched the axe from his hands into the bush. Instantly, a figure shot from the spot the axe landed, making for the low wall that lead outside the castle walls. A ball of fire was flung towards the intruder, but only managed to singe the tips of his crimson robe. The surprisingly nimble person managed to kick off a tree and leapt neatly up to the edge of the wall, and hoisted himself up. Cursing, Mark had chased after him, but only managed to get a glimpse of the figure descending the other side of the wall. All he could catch was their eyes. They were gold, like the ones that were upon him in the arena. Who was this? Was that really the same pair of eyes from Ferox? Why was he following their group?

"Is something troubling you?" Fredereck inquired towards the silent and uncommonly stern Mark. He dismissed it as nothing, and was informed by the Sheppard that the Exalt and Chrom had decided to make for a secondary palace that was built in times of emergency. They would be leaving in the morning, a few scarce hours from now. Sleep would be useless, as the adrenaline from the fight would keep Mark up for the night. He decided to do some investigations about what Chrom had told him about his father.

He went into the library of the castle and sat himself down with a stack of books. It was a few books that he had determined would be useful for the next few weeks; a book on the history of Plegia, written 3 years ago by a scholar who was originally from Regna Ferox, an older book that claimed to hold the original 77 strategic formations of an old Yllissian general, and a record book from the war between Plegia and Yllisse. He was keenest on the last book and went directly to the section that listed casualties. He was stunned by the numbers, and realized that Chrom didn't exaggerate. His father had sent a half a million people to their deaths. There were no records on how many were killed for the Plegians, but he could only assume the numbers were near similar. He flipped back a few chapters to see the tactics the Exalt and his generals used, and he was even more taken aback. Mages had been ordered to torch Plegian farmlands, and the Pegasus knights were instructed to rain javelins over towns and slay civilians. The war crimes made it no wonder Gangrel saw them as the terror. The door to the library opened and Mark looked up from the book to see Emmeryn herself coming in. In her right hand was a perfectly balanced tray with a teapot and two cups with saucers. Mark immediately snapped the book shut at the sight of her. "Your Excellency! It's late, shouldn't you be asleep?" The lady in front of him smiled warmly at the statement

"I rarely sleep this late. Besides, I had heard from Fredereck that you were here, and I thought I might join you." She walked gracefully, almost gliding, towards his table and rested the tray down. "It's a blend I have imported from Valm in the west. It's really a good flavor and I can't get through stressful times without it." She poured the tea into the cup closest to him and then in the other cup. "I see Chrom mentioned what our Father did during the war." Her eyes traced towards the spine of the book in Mark's hands. "I hope you can understand that I do not share my father's ideologies of conquest and theological mania." She took a sip from her cup and the tactician followed suit. The hot liquid going down his throat and soothing it. It was surprisingly good, and it smelled like uncut grass and odd fruit that relaxed Mark greatly.

"Not at all, milady. From what I've seen and what Chrom and Lissa say, you are a just and beloved ruler." He drank again and the conversation went on. He learned a bit about her early reign, how she eventually turned her people around to her, and the struggles that she had with her people in the early years. He didn't have many stories in particular, but he absorbed all he could of her stories. By 5 AM the pot was empty and the two were laughing over little things like Lissa's hatred of the outdoors and Fredereck's phobia of foreign meats.

"I believe now I know you well, and can trust you well enough Mark," Emmeryn paused to wipe a tear from her eye "to give you an edict from the Exalt herself." Mark straightened up to listen to what she had to say. "I need you to promise me, whatever happens in the days to come, that Chrom and Lissa are safe, over my own safety. Understood?" Mark was slightly taken aback by her request, but could see the seriousness in her face.

"Of course, your Excellency. Only if you make a promise to a humble servant of your kingdom" he stood up to book his books away. "That after this business with Plegia is settled, that we travel to Valm by boat, and have a cup of this tea in the land it is grown." Emmeryn smiled and nodded in her agreement.

The pair couldn't have possibly known that the first promise would be tested immediately, and the latter would never be fulfilled.

* * *

The fighting on the island was quick. The enemy here was better trained than those that had assailed them on the ship, but Mark's maneuvering through the forest had given them a significant advantage over the less mobile foes. He made a mental note to thank Florina for bringing Lyn and Guy with him towards the opposite end of the forest ahead of the rest of the army. The leader of the unit that had met them, Uhai, lay bleeding on the ground. He had slashes across his shoulders and stomach, and wouldn't survive, clerical treatment or otherwise. Mark knelt next to him as he looked down upon the warrior, pride stained with blood, with no sign of ego anywhere in his eyes. "I'm sorry we had to meet like this. In another world we may have been allies." The Sacaen coughed out a laugh and looked towards the tactician.

"Mayhaps. Maybe in the next life we will be." He attempted to sit up, but it seemed to cause him too much pain. "'My body is broken. I go to my fathers." Uhai coughed again and blood spilt onto his lips "And even in their mighty company I shall not be ashamed. For I met my end to a worthy foe. Lo, strategist, come closer." Mark sat next to the Trooper and pulled from his robes the flask he had taken from a Laus soldier in Caelin. It was filled with brandy from the ship and he offered it to the dying man out of respect. He grimaced and took it, as Mark unscrewed the top for him. "From here, go south…Turn at the rotted tree. Head…west. There lies the path to the…Dragon's Gate. One more thing, strategist. My horse…" He drained the rest of the flask and his arm went limp. "She belongs to you now, for you have bested me through your mind and you friends…take care of…" With that, the man of the plains passed. Mark closed his eyelids and rose with the flask in his hands.

"Rest now, Uhai Djute." As he rose and folded the empty flask back into his robes, he looked around. Near her dead master was the horse that Uhai had mentioned. Mark approached her and she showed no motions to rebuff or escape. He stroked the chestnut colored mane and looked upon the saddle and found the name "Raphea." Well, Raphea would be taken care of, as he interpreted the dying words as meaning. Not ridden into battle anymore unless truly desperate. Guy assisted him carrying the body towards the east, as was Sacaen tradition, according to the myrmidon. There he would be buried on the highest plot of land possible, so his spirit could greet the rising sun every morning. When he was buried, they returned to the group and Mark informed Eliwood of what the trooper had relayed to him, and they agreed as a group to take his words as truth. When the party started off, Mark noticed that there was something amiss. Matthew, usually one to bring up the rear, was at the lead of the group, striding even past Hector and Eliwood. The tactician caught up to the spy. "Hey…are you alright? I…I heard what happened…" Matthew just continued to walk forward, seemingly without registering what was said to him. "About what we were talking about on Fargus' boat, I-"

"We just need to get the job done Mark. That's all that matters." He strode forward through the fog, quickly out pacing Mark. Deciding it was best to leave him be for now, the tactician mounted Raphea. She seemed to naturally adjust herself to his movements, and even though he had little experience on horseback, it felt natural as well. He hung back and joined with Eliwood and Hector. Explaining that the spy just needed to be alone, he rode, keeping an eye on the surroundings for ambushes.

I guess he had finally seen Matthew off kilter.


	5. Waves of Grief

"Mark! Their wyvern riders have fallen! The skies are clear! I'm giving the signal!" Chrom produced a whistle from his pocket and blew into it. A shrill noise came out, and moments later, a trio of Pegasus knights flew in from the west to their location. Phila at the lead, spear in hand and ready to fight. Mark couldn't help but laugh at the success of today. Rescuing Emmeryn ended up being all too easy. Perhaps Gangral was less of a challenge than Chrom thought. He ran over to give commands to Phila, who was shouting to the Exalt. As he approached her, however, figures massed behind the trio. Mark hesitated only for a moment, and a moment was what it took. First he was looking in Phila's eyes, a look of confusion on her face from the tactician's startled expression. Then she had collapsed, an arrow lodged in her back. Mark snapped back into reality and ran over to Yllisse's knight commander and kneeled beside her

"No….no no no. Stay with me." He was saying it more for himself rather than to her. He knew it was too late for Phila, she was losing too much blood.

"Y-Your Grace, I... Forgive me..." Light faded from her eyes, and her head slumped back into Mark's arms. Around him, the other two Pegasus knights had already been slain. He could hear Emmeryn yelling, could hear Gangral making demands. But something filled him. It wasn't fear or anger, a mix of both. He couldn't get over the reality that good soldiers had died because of his folly. Logic and strategy drained from his thoughts. All he could focus on were the enemies in front of him. He rose, hand shaking and breathing heavy. Three men, bows in their hands. He drew his steel and rushed them. He heard Lissa'a voice calling to him to stop, but he didn't care. He dodged arrows flying towards him and cut down one of the figures. He turned and beheaded the second in one strike, and turned to face the final. He could hear Gangral crying and Chrom demanding him to stop, but he wouldn't. There was only one more in front of him, and he was familiar. Red hooded robe, tall, and a gleam of gold under that hood. It was the spy that had been following them since Ferox, he knew it. Mark's blood rushed as he sprinted with his blade to him, but in a quick flash he felt pain erupt from his arm and stomach. There was enough force behind the arrows to slow him, and another arrow that struck his lower leg tripped him. With three arrows placed with precision in his body, he was left gasping for air. Breathing labored, he was left with little to no energy left to move, much less stand. He felt the tip of an arrow graze the back of his head. Pain subsided the rage he had felt before, breathing labored still by his wounds.

"GYA HAHAHA! Very good! If he dares move again, or if the little princeling moves, sink that arrow in his skull!" Mark's mind raced with ideas of how to get out of this situation, but he couldn't think of anything. "Now boy, lay down your arms, and give me the Emblem."

"CHROM! Don't do it!" He just needed more time…time no one here had. Emmeryn would be dead instantly if he didn't move fast. Even if he did, she still might die. He was at a loss, powerless. The man above him removed the arrow from his temple and drove him face first into the ground with his boot. The arrow in his stomach was dug deeper in by the ground, leaving the strategist in even more pain. The only thing Mark could hear was ringing, the only sight was dirt. Muffled sounds of laughter, shouting, than silence. He managed to lift his head from the ground with some effort, but the pressure had now moved to the small of his back and it prevented him from going anywhere. He could see Chrom running, and see the pillar where Emmeryn stood, and… "Oh, Gods."

"Bwa ha ha haa! Well now! ...How disgustingly noble. And so lovely a fall!" He had failed to protect the Exalt, someone who trusted him. Now Chrom was going to pay, and the Emblem lost. He had failed. Mark put every last ounce of strength into trying to get up, trying to do something, but the man was too powerful, and kept him down

In that moment, as all hope seemed to be lost, he felt the pressure of the boot relieve itself from his back. A flash of crimson came before him as the figure who had been pinning him down went sprawling into his line of sight. Two new people were standing in front of him. The Khans had arrived, seemingly just in time to get them out of trouble. The man rolled with the blow from Basillo's axe with ease, and launched a half a dozen arrows with blinding speed towards the new pair in front of him, but the East Khan caught them all with her shield. "You have to RUN! Do it now!" Basillo turned his one good eye towards the tactician. The Khan managed, with little effort, to hoist the young man and held him out. "Mark, don't let him do anything stupid!" Before Mark could say anything, he was in the air, retreating with the rest of the Shepards below him. Not used to the sensation of flying, he had instinctively shut his eyes when he was swept up. Finally cracking one eye open, he attempted to focus on his savior. His focus was maet with crimson hair and a face focused forward. He was laying across Cordelia's lap as they were racing through the winds, her eyes focused forward.

"The Exalt…her body…we..." He couldn't manage to finish the sentence, as blood still trickled from his arrow wounds. He grimaced in pain as the pegasai made a change in course.

"We have our orders to retreat, Mark. I…don't like it either, but those are the orders." With one hand on the reigns of her Pegasus, Cordelia produced a blue vial from a pouch on her mount's saddle and poured the contents into the tactician's open mouth. Feeling a burst of energy and dulling of pain, Mark found the will to finally grasp at the arrow still in his shoulder. With a pull, he managed to force the arrow loose, but it left his hand stinging and twitching involuntarily. Whoever that man was knew where he was firing. The projectile in his leg hurt less coming out, but still a wave of pain. They soon landed and regrouped with the rest of the army, in a field far west from where they had clashed with Gangral. Dismounting, Mark reflected againupon his savior. Her hair shone even with the clouds covering the late day sun. Her armor, even marred with dirt, was still white among the browns and greys of the land around them.

"Th-…thanks." He managed to get out as he moved over towards the larger group. Clutching his shoulder still, the beaten tactician made his way to where Fredereck stood with the crying siblings of Yllisse's royal house.

* * *

The Dread Isle was already behind them, and the sun was starting to set as Eliwood and his group reentered Badon's harbor. Lord Elbert's body was carried with reverence to the Marquess of Badon's estate. Soon, it would be sent, with letter of condolence and explanation, to Pherae. Soon after, Mark assumed that they would need to handle Nergal. He leaned on the outside wall of the inn near the harbor and breathed in the sea air. He found it calming, especially after the events had transpired. The Dread Isle left most of the group spent, either physically or emotionally. Everyone needed a break from fighting for a bit. Most of the group had gone to the tavern, but a few people had stayed in the inn. Mark took his pipe out and reached for his pouch of tobacco. Irritated, he searched both sides of his robes in all the pockets. "Didn't think you smoked, too." Mark turned smartly to find a figure in the shadows; Ebony robes, silver hair and the light of a match in his hands. The man brought that match up to an ivory pipe that was in his mouth. "You have good taste in your blends."

"I'll have it back now, thank you" Legault reached into his robes and tossed the leather pouch back to the tactician. Mark filled his pipe, and the man opposite him offered the still lit match, which was taken gratefully. He studied Legault; the duel scars that ran over his left eye, the knives and other tools that hung on his belt, the way he held himself. The man was clearly more of a professional than anyone else that was in the Black Fang's numbers they had encountered so far. "Listen. I'll be blunt, because I feel like I can afford to be blunt with you." Mark took a dreg from his pipe and let the smoke come out with his next words. "But I don't trust you. I don't like where we found you and I don't like the circumstances. But if Eliwood trusts you, and Lyn trusts you, than I guess I can give you a chance." Legault laughed, seemingly taking the challenge of his character as a compliment.

"I don't think I'd like it if you openly accepted me just like that. I'd prefer to earn your trust if it's all the same." Mark nodded, the unwritten agreement reached. The two took a minute and watched some of their army coming back from the tavern. Sain was fawning over Fiora, and Barte was trying to convince Dorcas to spar with him on the spot. It seemed like the air of grief and misery that haunted some of the party didn't hang over all of them. "That woman speaks highly of you by the way, and that's putting it lightly." Mark looked inquisitively over to the smoker on his right. "When I met and decided it was time to switched banners, it was all 'Well, I don't know if Mark would be okay with it' and 'Okay, but now I need to go make sure Mark is okay.' She has a serious liking for you, strategist." That was two people now who had confirmed that Lyn reciprocated some of the feelings that he had for her.

"Wait. Strategist?" Being called by such an official title took Mark aback. "One of the other Black Fang members called me that when we first landed on the island. A Nomad from Sacae."

"Ahh…so you met Uhai." Legault shifted his weight and put out his pipe, knocking out the tobacco against the wall. "Taking that you're all still here I assume he's not standing anymore." Mark shook his head and the thief sighed. "He was a good man, one of the original members and a man I looked up to…a man of honor." It looked like he was getting reminiscent of his old comrade, but at that moment the doors to the inn opened and a dark cloaked figure emerged from the inn.

It was their other new recruit, Canas. Mark looked back to where Legault stood but the man was gone, to wherever it was that agents go in the night. "Oh! I'm quite sorry if I was interrupting anything between you and the other gentlemen, Mark." Sighing, the tactician snuffed his own pipe out and began to put his tools away.

"It's quite alright Canas." The man in front of him still struck Mark as a curiosity. A practitioner of dark magics, however neither gibbering mad or soulless, as his readings had trained him to believe. "How're you doing this evening?"

"Oh, just trying to take in what we all experienced on Valor. All the knowledge I was hoping for and more. Although I was wondering," The man proclaimed, as he motioned for Mark to walk with him. The pair strode down the empty streets, the sea air still following Mark. "If you would help me collect the remainder of my belongings from my housing? I left a few ongoing experiments and books when I rushed out with you on your adventure." The pair was soon at the boarding house where Eliwood had found the shaman, and Mark was stunned at the pile of books Canas had with him. Mostly histories from just after the Scouring, but some dissertations on anima and dark spells.

Trying not to be too excited, the tactician quickly tried to fit all the volumes into the singular suitcase Canas had pointed out. Occasionally, he turned around to look at the experiments the scholar was fussing over. Liquids were being transferred into sealable vials, flames doused and their producers placed in containers. Occasionally, Canas picked up a quill and scratched down notesbefore breaking a setup down. Soon, the experiments took up the same space as the books, all neatly fitting in a suitcase similar to the text holding one, only black and looking rougher. Each man carrying a case, they made their way out of the boarding house towards Merlinus' tent to find storage for it. "What're your experiments about, Canas?"

"Oh! Well, I've often spent time examining the healing properties of vulneraries. I've wondered if the benefits could be magnified through various methods and scenarios." He went on about the last two weeks' worth of experiments that had led to the production of a concoction of sorts, one providing catharsis twice as powerful as the original vulnerary.

The two's conversation was broken by Hector, who had come out of seemingly nowhere, grabbed Mark by the collar, and was dragging him away from the inn door. "WH…hey! Hector, what are you doing?"

"We have a situation. Come on." He was dragging Mark for a few seconds more before the tactician found his feet and began striding to keep up with the beast of a man next to him. They were going to the tavern. They could hear a commotion inside, and as they came through the door, Mark saw the situation Hector had mentioned. Matthew was standing at the bar, in a shouting match with the owner. Around him were bottles of wine and ales, all emptied

"You can't tell me that I've had enough! You don't know what I've been through!" A sack from Matthew's side hit the bar hard. "Look, just give me whatever you have left. This should cover all of it." At the sight of the Lord and Mark, the bartender sighed, and the color lessened in his face. Gently, as gently as the action would allow, Hector wrapped his hand around Matthew's head, and the color and stress reappeared in the bartender. The spy began flailing, knocking over bottles, but the alcohol and stress of the past week made his movements less harsh within seconds. As Hector dragged Matthew from the bar, Mark grabbed his flailing legs and held them still, before the man was still. Left unconscious by Hector's quick and brute thinking.

A small sack of gold later and the pair walked out the door, with Matthew slung over Hector's shoulders. "Leila…got….gotta….urgh…" Mark opened the door to the inn for Hector, and they placed the spy on the nearest bed as Hector went off to find Serra. Poor man, Mark thought. He wished he could help his friend more. But he wasn't a healer…or a mage….or any kind of warrior for that fact. He'd been thinking about how useless in a fight he was. He had to run from the bandits in Pherae, and has to stay close to Eliwood in most fights. Not that Eiwood goes out and fights anyway. But he wished he could get out on the frontlines more. Serra and Lucius both arrived, and began to tend to the incapacitated Matthew. Serra remarked he wasn't hurt, only heavily intoxicated. Giving his thanks, Mark stepped outside and leaned against the inn wall for the second time that night. What would happen now? Where would they start?

Apparently, the Fang thought that Badon was a great place to start. Hector found him again, and told him that Nils sensed that the group was in danger of assault. Right here, right now. As the people around him put on armor and drew weapons, Legault appeared once again out of the corner of the tactician's eye, eating what appeared to be the remnants of a roll or sandwich of some kind. "Great, the man I was looking for. I need you in this darkness." He looked around as the army prepared around him. "I can't see jack, and my usual man for the job is…incapacitated." Legault smiled and nodded to him, and went off to scout up front in the group. "You want a chance to prove yourself, Hurricane. Show me I'm not wrong to trust you now."

* * *

They had boarded carriages prepared by Khan Basillo's men, four people in each carriage. Chrom, Lissa and the Khans were in the front, and Mark found himself with Libra, Lon'qu and Virion. He had failed. He had failed Emmeryn, and by doing so failed Chrom. He had failed all of Yllisse. It was weighing heavy on him now, after the most recent fight to even get here. They were crossing the border into Ferox, and he looked up to see what the other members of his transport were doing. Virion was looking out the back of the carriage, lost in thought, presuming he thought of anything other than women. Lon'qu's eyes were closed, and his head was back. Libra, however, was awake, and praying. Praying for whatever a man of the cloth prayed for in times like these. Grief hit them all in different ways. Mark could only sit there and blame himself for their failure today. He hung his head, trying desperately to clear his thoughts of Emmeryn and Phila's faces, of the arrows that had lodged in his body, and of the flight from the battle.

"It's not your fault, Mark. You got everyone out in a best case scenario." He looked up and saw Libra was the one talking to him. "Everyone here is still alive. Half of the army would still be in that mire of bones back there if it wasn't…"

"Don't you GET it!?" Mark cut him off. "I FAILED. The plan was to rescue Emmeryn and I...I..." He started to choke up, and Libra put his hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay, child. Emmeryn is gone, and there isn't any magic in the world that would bring her back." Mark couldn't take it anymore and broke down. Libra spent the next few minutes comforting him. "What matters now is that the Prince is safe, and that the rest of us are alive. And for that, you should feel grand." Mark looked up to see Libras warm eyes, and it put a comfort in him. They were quickly approaching the Feroxi capital, and they would need to decide what to do about Gangral. His best had failed him once, and as he sat there in the monk's arms he promised himself. He wouldn't let his best fall short ever again.


	6. Wartime Preparations

"Hah…hah…again." Mark stood heaving, a trickle of blood from his cheek. In front of him, Lon'qu stood with his sword drawn. He approached, dragging his steel along the ground as he approached. Mark began to lead him as he came, the pair forming a circle with their footsteps. Mark drew his own blade and the two met, clashing in a power struggle. Mark gained the upper hand, and the game of parries ensued. For a minute, they danced around each other, clashing blades and spinning to avoid being cut. As the dance was finished, Mark used a powerful beat with the flat of his steel to send Lon'qu's blade flying into the nearby brush. Mark grinned through his hard breathing, having finally won a duel that day. That made thirteen for his teacher, and one for him. He saluted the swordsmen with his blade and sheathed it.

It had been two months since they had failed to rescue Emmeryn, and had returned now to Yllisse. Every day since he had given himself to grief in the caravan, Mark had been preparing himself for their eventual return to Gangral's domain. While Chrom and Fredereck were busy training the armies of Yllisse to take the Plegian soldiers, he demanded Lon'qu, Gregor, and others spar with him until he became more than competent with his sword. Gregor's style was easy for Mark to catch onto, seeming like merely an extension of his previous combat style. Lon'qu's style, however, had a stylized difference to it, focused on skill more than brute strength. The tactician strived to find the median of the two, and felt as though it was coming nicely. Intertwined with that were the magic lessons from Miriel alongside Ricken, and studies in the libraries of the castle that sometimes lasted days. He had been using magic as an accessory or neat add on to his life at best since he had been journeying with Chrom. Now he wished to expand his arcane knowledge, and Miriel had offered to educate him in the art herself.

He was determined not to be the weak link of the army, especially after his strategies failed to save Emmeryn. He shook his head of those past thoughts, took off his heavy coat and let it fall to the patch of grass next to his satchel and other gear. With a thud it landed, and he situated himself under a nearby tree. Taking a moment, he brushed the sweat from his forehead. Chrom told him that they would soon be moving out for Gangral, and the war would be over before any more lives could be lost.

He looked up in time to see a figure dropping from the branches. Leaping away, Mark rolled to his feet and drew the only weapon on him; a dagger that was clutched in his hands when he awoke in the road a month ago. Gaius landed on his feet and struck out at the tactician, but his sword was bound in a close parry, and the thief was thrown to the ground. "You're getting better, Smoky." Gaius was flat on the ground spread eagle, and reached a hand out to be helped up. Mark smiled, and hoisted the young red head up

"Thanks to you. If you weren't trying to jump me daily, I wouldn't be getting this quick." Mark walked over with Gaius to his gear on the ground and pulled a small bag from the pile. He tossed the bag to Gaius, who opened it to find a pile of sugar dusted cookies. Eyes lit with excitement, Gaius started eating them two at a time. "You haven't been around for the past few days. I take it you were…"

"Mmkin nnt wut yu affkd." Gaius swallowed the cookies in his mouth and repeated. "Lookin' into what you asked, yeah." Gaius pulled out a small notebook and tossed it to Mark. Scratched in were figures, statistics, information on the Plegian forces that Mark thought they'd need. The speed that Gaius had taken this information was incredible. Thanking him, making sure the info got passed onto Fredereck, Mark grabbed his sword and walked over to the water barrel in the middle of the courtyard before he continued to train. As he cupped water in his hands and splashed it over his face and into his mouth, he heard something coming from beyond the near wall. He turned, now refreshed and walked towards the low hanging wall. It sounded like a commotion. He quickened his pace and found a clearing, where six of Yllisse's soldiers surrounded a dismounted Cordelia.

She was sweating, hard, and beckoning them to come at her. Two of the soldiers charged, but she deflected them away from her with the butt of her lance. The other four began to assault her, but she seemed effortless in her deflection. It was almost a dance, as she gracefully avoided spear points, and redirecting them into trees. Soon the soldiers fell, being knocked to the ground by the blunt of the Pegasus knight's weapon. She was unscathed, completely. Mark saw her sigh and drop the spear. Telling her sparring partners to take a rest, she walked over to a stump where a waterskin lay. He walked farther into the circle, and the knight finally noticed him. "That was impressive, taking them on by yourself." Seemingly unphased, she drank from her waterskin and sat on the stump. He lingered on those words for a few moments, waiting for something, any words. But Cordelia sat there, breathing hard and drinking water. "I…don't think I ever thanked you for saving me la-"

"Please save it, Mark." Cordelia stood up, and picked up her spear. "It was me doing what I had to, it doesn't need any thanks." Coldly, she continued to sit and hydrate herself, leaving Mark awkward and leaning against a tree. "However," she tossed the skin to the ground and stood. Lance in hand, she strode past Mark and stood in her makeshift arena, pointing her weapon towards the man she had saved "if you want to thank me, you'll spar me. Right now." Taken slightly aback, but happy to oblige, Mark pulled his sword and walked into the circle.

* * *

"Ahh Mark, come here for a moment." The emerald clad figure turned to see the Archsage facing him. The battlefield outside of the shrine was cleared of the last Black Fang. Lloyd Reed lay dead, inside the shrine. They would bury him later, Legault offering to relocate him to where Linus was buried, and where Brenden would soon be as well. Mark approached Athos, who motioned that the two should walk. "Eliwood has taken his select champions into the bowels of the land to obtain Durandel, the legendary blade. Now, I wonder, if you'll want to gain powers to rival the weapons I and my seven friends wielded in the Scouring." They were walking east, where Raphea, Uhai's old horse, stood waiting. "In a Cave, three miles ride from here, lies one of my oldest friends. Their name has been lost to time, in exchange for the power they were given. I feel as though you will make use of some of the powers you may receive there. But I warn you," Athos turned and looked Mark in the eyes; the steel iris' emphasizing his following words to the tactician, "The trials that await you in the Cave are not for the weak hearted. What you experience will most certainly not be pleasant. It is a test not to be taken lightly, as are all the tests that hold the legendary weapons at bay. And, unlike the other challenges, you must take this test alone. Go on to the Cave, I will tell the others that you shall return."

Thanking the Archsage for this opportunity, Mark mounted the Sacaen horse and rode east. This was the first time he has truly rode Raphea any faster than a trot, and she was very comfortable, the three miles seeming to take minutes. He came to appreciate the grace and beauty of the horse. He found a mountain, with a mouth leading inwards, as Athos had told him there would be. He slid off of Raphea and ran his hand over her mane. He pulled an apple from the pack that was on her side, and gave it to her, cooing to her that she should wait here. He began towards the cave mouth, and he heard a faint voice. He couldn't tell what it said, or where it came from, but he ignored it and was at the very mouth of the cave when he heard the voice louder.

"Your armor and weapons. Need them you will not." At first he thought that the voice came from the cave, but Mark realized it had no echo, nor did the voice have any distance. The voice Mark had heard was in his head. It wasn't even a voice really, merely a thought. Rattled, he looked around, and then into the black of the cave. He took off his cloak, unhooked his bandoleer of items, and removed the dagger Rath had gifted him from its place across his stomach. He had stripped down to only his shirt, cotton pants and grey boots, placing his gear in a pile right outside the cave. He took a torch from the pile, lit it, breathed in the fresh air one last time, and stepped through the mouth and walked into the cave.

The path in the cave was narrow, barely able to fit Mark as he traveled slowly downward. As he walked, the torch abruptly extinguished itself, and he was surrounded in darkness. Mark was startled at first, but knew he had to push forward, as this was probably part of Athos' aforementioned test. He felt for the wall and decided to press on. "Sent you, one of my old friends did?" The voice echoed in his head again. "Athos, it was. Good it is, to know he is still alive." The darkness was broken by a faint glow that now ran along the walls. It was letters, or at least characters. Mark recognized them as being similar to what filled tomes, however they seemed…rougher. More primitive, like scratches of the first quill on parchment. He followed the path as it winded down, left, right, doubled back, but always downward. "Many centuries it has been, since the dragons fled this world. But only seconds, has it felt to me. Awake I have not been since right after those days of old." Mark found an opening and through it a great hall. An altar was on the opposite end of the hall, and in the middle was a figure, standing in the middle of the chamber. The light was brighter in the room, and now murals could be found on the walls, not just the characters from the entrance down. Mark came closer to the center of the room and studied the figure standing there. Figure was the only appropriate word, because while the form was human like, there was no detail. No details of a face, no clothing, but not naked either. The form seemed to be composed purely of glowing, yellow energy as he approached.

"I have come to you on the words of Athos, Archsage." Mark bowed at the waist out of respect. "He said I might come here…"

"Yes I know." A trail of yellow light streamed slowly from the figure. Like a strand of silk, it floated through the air and came to circle itself around the tactician's head. "As you entered the cave, many things I saw. The closer you are, deeper I may go into your thoughts." The energy that encircled Mark's head retreated to its master, and the figure changed. A face formed, and hair grew. Clothes formed around a body that began to grow slightly shorter and skin became a fair hue. Mark was taken aback, when he found himself looking at himself. Every detail was accurate, except the eyes, which remained the yellow that the figure was made of before. "I became the greatest mind in the land you now call Elibe." The figure began to walk a circle around the young tactician. "My identity became the price I paid. A price I knew, and took to help my friends." As the speaker came back into Mark's sight, he was shocked to see that it was no longer his face he looked at, rather Hector's. Every detail accurate, except the eyes, once again. They glowed yellow with the same energy. "Akin to my ally Bramimond **.** Though this price many consider worse. I do not feel ill of it, however. My sacrifice was for the better of the world." Mark followed the person now with his eyes, and with each blink, they seemed to change into someone else. One second Hector, then Matthew, then Legault and even Nino flashed before him, all identical to when he saw his friends last, still though with the yellow eyes. "I gained not knowledge, but Sight. I can see all things and people. I can enter their minds, so long as they are close enough. At my prime, I could control even my friend's movements. Do you desire this power? The power to control?" Eliwood now stood in front of him, looking him in the eyes. Was this a part of the test Athos mentioned?

"I am not a man who wishes to control others." Mark stood strong against the person in front of him, now resembling Linus Reed. "I neither deserve nor desire that power. I believe people were born with the right to choose. I only wish for enough power to make myself worthy of the Lords and Lady I serve." Linus smiled, and shifted into Ursula as he did. The figure glowed blindingly bright, and had taken the form of Nergal when Mark unshielded his eyes.

"The form of your enemy, I have taken. I have seen some of what this man did. Do you plan to slay this man? And of his soldier, will you kill them as well?" Mark sat there looking at Nergal in his yellow eyes. This being, this legend, could read minds? Then it would know his answer. Nergal smiled across from him, turning into Lord Elbert. "No mercy for the commander. You believe him to be evil of heart? This may be so. Shreds of light, however, there may be. His men, confused and lied to they could be. But you know this. You have showed mercy before, to the soldiers of Roland's son, the man named Darin. Careful, however. For softness for your foe may turn into your weakness." There was yet another bright flash and before Mark was a new sight. There was a slab of marble, and upon it was Lyndis. The Lady that he had served dutifully was there, hands crossed over her stomach, eyes closed, and not moving. Beyond her, the altar had a faint glow upon it "I have seen the ones you love." The voice was disembodied now, and as it spoke, more slabs appeared. Matthew, Erk, Canas, and Nino now joined Lyn on different slabs. "All these people will die. On the field of war, perhaps not, but they will die. When you receive my gift, you are predestined to watch all the people you care for die, as I had. Only once the last of my friends die can one with Sight move on. Do you accept this fate, if it means you receive a piece of my power?" Was this real? Or was it a test? Would he really have to see them all die? At the thought of this fate, his composure began to shake, tears began to well. All the people he had spent time with over the past year would have to die before him? Mark began to breath heavy, and speculated this was part of the price Athos may have paid. But he needed to protect them now. He wiped the tears from his face, and strode past them all, toward the alter that stood across the room from him. As he did, they all disappeared, and slowly the figure reformed at the altar, resembling Lyn. "Gaze upon the altar, strategist." Mark wiped his eyes and upon the raised marble was a chalice. The chalice was filled with the same golden light that the Legend seemed to have been composed of. "In this glass is a piece of my power. You will not have all of what I have, nor will the sacrifice be as great. But remember, this does come with a price."

Mark took the chalice hesitantly, looking towards Lyn. He took a breath and he drank the liquid inside. He felt a warmth fill him from the stomach out. He felt…odd, besides that. A little sick in the stomach, and light headed. He staggered to the wall on his right and leaned against it. A splitting headache followed and sustained for several minutes. When the pain passed, Mark caught his breath for a second and straightened out. Nothing felt different. He didn't feel stronger, nor did he feel his senses heightened. "Now, strategist. Reflect on your Lord. Where is he?" Where was Eliwood? Mark wasn't sure, but Athos had told him that he was looking for Durandel. He thought about Eliwood and the blade, and suddenly he saw him. He saw him, with Lowen and Marcus by his side, fighting a man with a large axe. They were in an extremely dangerous place, with magma flowing everywhere. This was amazing. The man with the axe…oh my. He knew his strengths and weaknesses. He knew the axe he carried could be thrown and would return to him. It wasn't speculation, it was fact. This was incredible. Hector was bull rushing through archers on the left flank. Raven was on the right, holding men at bay as Eliwood himself fought. He could see it all. The power he received was the power to see his allies on the field of battle. With this, coordinating the coming battles would be made easier. This must be the powers promised. "Use this power wisely. But remember, the price will be paid. Fate has its ways to take its toll on you for this gift."

* * *

"Mark, are you ready to move out?" One week after Mark and Cordelia's now fabled bout, which had lasted from midday to sunset, Chrom entered the tactician's room in the castle, and found it's occupant asleep at a desk. The historical tome of Plegia he had picked up the night after the assassination attempt was acting as a pillow, turned to the lineage of Plegian nobility, and Mark was out like the snuffed candle sitting to his right. Chrom entered the room and knocked on the table, startling Mark awake.

"Gah! Who? When? How many?" The lord came into focus and Mark calmed down. "Oh…it's time to make for Plegia then?" Mark rose from his seat and made to put his onyx robe on, but Chrom halted him.

"I think, Mark, that you need something more than cloth to protect you now, if you insist on leading the charge from now on." Behind him, Chrom heaved over a wooden box and placed it onto the bed in the room. He motioned to the tactician to open the crate, and Mark obliged. Prying open the top, he found metal reflecting his face back at him. It was armor; a chest plate, gauntlets and greaves. "These should fit you, even with your robe." Mark felt a hand on his shoulder. "I'll need you Mark. I'll need you now, and I'll need you when we start reconstructing all we've lost." Mark turned to look his liege in the eyes. They shared a glance that reassured each other; for Emmeryn, for Yllisse, and each other, they would end Gangral, and restore the peace.


	7. Poem A:Fredereck and Mark

So this chapter is gonna be a little different. I will be resenting to you a conversation between Mark and Fredereck is Iambic pentameter (Shakespeare speak for those who don't know what that means right away, haha). I'm doing this for multiple reasons. Mostly, because I feel like I post so infrequently that I need something to tide you all over while I work on the next chapter. I also want to take time to flesh out relationships and friendships, and this seems like a good way to do it. Also, I kinda just want to practice iambic pentameter, and you're my guinea pigs! SO, let's all sit back, and enjoy the scene that unfolds)

* * *

 _We join back in our tale of war and peace_

 _And here we find two men who swore to Chrom_

 _The young tactician who knows not his past_

 _Along him at his side is Fredereck_

 _The weary knight who hear serves as the ear_

Mark: With you I wish to have a word

Fredereck: What need you from me here while on the march?

Mark: Naught but brief word on things that hang on me

Fredereck: You wish from me a word whilst we do march?

To Gangral's land to bring the man to sword?

Forsooth, I hope you not give me ill news

Mark: Fear not, my words bear not the air of war

In change, I come to you with other pains.

Fredereck: What ill thoughts bear upon your brow, my friend?

I hope the ghosts of fallen souls not lay

Inside your mind and cloud what lies within

Mark: Nay. Souls that once obstructed me now rest.

What ills me now I feel are thoughts of love

And love has taken hold of me of late

It comes within the borders of our camp

Fredereck: Why do you come to me with such a plight?

Mark: For you have been a brother to our lord

Before in war but now in marriage bond

Our dear lord's sister you have made your bride

I hoped you may give some insight to this

The fires of love within a war's great heat

Fredereck: Tis true, that Lissa and I's love is strong

And were it not for this conflict we may

N'ere have known that we could be so in love

But Lo, who is the dame who has thy heart?

Mark: She is…she is a maid that is beyond

In flames of war she has the grace of all

The water in the seas and like it she

Doth quench the fires around her in the fight

Fredereck: Will you not speak plain of this fair woman

Mark: I speak as plain as I find able now

Fredereck: Who is this woman?

Mark: …I fear 'tis fair Cordelia has my heart

Fredereck: She? She who has her eyes for our lord Chrom?

Mark: Aye

Fredereck: And she who gives naught thought for other men?

Mark: Aye, the same.

Fredereck: I think you find your heart to be quite cruel.

Mark: None knows that fact as well as I know it

But when I see her riding on her mount

Throughout that sky that lies above us now

My heart doth wish that I too had a steed

So I may ride those skies and be with her

Fredereck: You speak so fond of dear Cordelia now

But, 'ere today I've naught heard you before

Speak on the subject of her or a dame

Mark: Twas fortnight last when we were in Plegia

When in defeat we ran for boarder land.

She swept me up and saved my humbled life.

And since that day I find myself entranced

With both her beauty and her martial skill

She takes my breath and leaves me little thought

I fear that this may lead unto my end.

Fredereck: I hear your hurt and only offer this

All of our company knows of her love

For our Lord Chrom, except for maybe he

How he is so vapid I cannot say

But in your pains I hope you'll think on this

That war is hard and loss is commonplace

And if you feel so true I'd hope you speak

To fair Cordelia and make her your bride

Mark: My thanks do you, dear Fredereck for this

Fredereck: think not of it, for I was glad to lend

An ear to you and keep you well of mind

Mark: But look! I see a fort of our dire foes!

I must ride forward and prepare our seige.

Come join me when you've settled all your arms!

* * *

Well That was it. Like I said, it was more an experiment in iambic pentameter, and a bonus scene for the people who are keen to read more. There will be one more chapter posted by the end of jusly, I promise. Until then, make sure you leave me feedback, I welcome all of it.


	8. Oceans of Future, Rivers of Past

The ship had sailed, and there was still a few hours before they would land on Valor. Fargus' crew had been given shore leave to accommodate the sheer size of Eliwood's forces. The horses were corralled below deck, and the winged mounts were allowed to fly freely alongside the ship. Pre-fight rituals were abound, and Mark was probably the most lost in thought on the boat.

Since his experience in the Cave, Mark had been testing and adjusting to his new Sight. He closed his eyes and focused his thoughts on Eliwood. In an instant he saw him, as if he were merely a few feet from him. He was occupied, pouring over a map with Marcus and Harken. With a slight twinge in his thought, he found Hector sitting in the corner with his arms crossed. From the bowels of the ship, his vision turned to Farina. She was sitting in the crow's nest of the ship, humming and whittling a figurine out of a block of wood. This power was extraordinary. Focus returned, and Mark now looked out to the ocean. Deep blues and emerald reflected on the surface of the water, shimmering in the afternoon sun. Soon, hopefully, all the fighting would be over. And what would the travelling tactician do then, he wondered. Would he continue to wander as he was before that day in Pherae? Would people join him? He didn't know.

Mark made his way across the deck and down the stairs, hoping to get some food before the island came into sight. After he had grabbed a mug of the ship's grog and some form of barreled mystery mear, he found Erk, Nino, Canas, and Pent all sitting at the same table in the corner of the galley. Nino had a book in front of her and Erk was helping the young magic user get through the words.

"And…the two of th…them lived happy…happily ever after!" Nino happily closed the book and smiled proudly at Erk. Mark sat down next to her as she excitedly chatted with the mage next to her. "Oh, hi Mark! Guess what? I just read my first story! On my own!" The pure innocence in her words couldn't not make the tactician smile.

"That's great, Nino. You'll be reading full histories soon enough. You can help her with that, right Canas?" At that moment, Canas broke away from his discussion with Pent and hastily agreed to a statement he probably hadn't even heard. Mark and Nino both laughed, and they even got a smile from Erk. Ever since she had joined, Mark found himself growing fonder of Nino. Despite the horrible truths she had learned quickly about her mother and her real parents, she had dedicated herself to arcane study, apprenticing under Pent like Erk had, and learning more from Canas and Erk on the side. He found their conversations fascinating, if not difficult and intimidating. Food always came with a good conversation of magic, or politics, or the previous fight's events.

Mark ate his food mostly with Pent, Louise and this company since the Shrine of Seals left Eliwood a brooding mess, and the good company he used to find in Matthew seemed only transfixed on Leila's death. It hung over him like a shroud, and once Mark had convinced him Jaffar would be useless to kill, he had spent all of his time training his body for frontline fighting. Eliwood tended to keep his inner circle close; Hector and the Pheraen knights were all that Eliwood wanted to trust. Everyone else was outside looking in, even Lyn and the tactician ceased knowing all of Eliwood's thoughts and ideas.

Standing from the group after his meal, thanking the quartet for their company, Mark made his way back topside. Twilight now covered the deck, and Mark saw a familiar figure standing at the bow. Lyn leaned against the rail of the Davros, back facing the stairs. Mark came up and stood next to her, leaning on the rails as well. "It looks like it'll be a nice night for the walk to the gate." She gave a small smile, taking her eyes from the blue of the water.

"I miss home, Mark. I miss the sea of grass and the clean air. This salt is…" She started to move from her place, turning towards the aft of the ship but paused there. "After all this, I feel like going back to Sacae, feeling the wind in my hair again. I…if you're not doing anything else, Mark…" Both tactician and Lady turned to face each other. The two that had been through three countries, too many bandit clans, and a few standing armies. But still, neither could find the words for the bond they shared. The plains warrior with all her blades and her arrows couldn't find them, nor could the font of stratagems, in his texts nor writings. Without finishing her statement, Mark knew what she was asking and nodded.

"I'm glad to have you as a friend, Lyn." A warm smile crossed both of their faces. "I mean…well, I-"

"Land!" Both were snapped from their momentary daze by Farina leaping near them. She split the difference between the two, running through their space to get a good glimpse of the Dread Isle. Excitedly, the mercenary turned around and bolted downstairs. "Hey! We're here! Off your asses! Time to fight!" Red came around on Lyn's face, and she mumbled something about needing to get ready. She stepped away briskly, leaving Mark with his thoughts. He sighed, brushed his hair back, counted to ten, and made his way down to his equipment. Their final battle was on hand.

* * *

Leaving their allies behind them, the Prince of Yllisse and his tactician cut a path through the enemies in front of them. Plegians surrounded them now, but neither man cared. As arrows and spells were thrown to them, they would move or slash away the danger. When enemies got close, a sword would hold the threat away, and steel or fire would meet the attacker next. For as many of the enemy had surrendered to them as the army had made way to Gangrel himself, the mad king's loyalist were still here, ready to fight for their majesty. Never staying still if they could help it, Chrom was determined to end the battle as quickly as possible. Behind them, over the roar of their foes, came a secondary cries of war from their comrades clashing with the Plegians they had outpaced at the beginning of the fight. Dashing into a nearby fortress, Mark retreated behind his Lord and pulled Arcfire from his robes. The pair formed an effective chokepoint, dropping soldiers as they tried to enter the fort. "We can't be far now!" Mark shouted over the flames and the sound of clashing blades. The numbers crashing against them started to thin, and in the air, Mark heard the unmistakable crowing of their enemy, beckoning them to come further. With a great push out the fortress doorway, Chrom made his way out of the fortress in an almost full sprint towards the visible figure of Gangral. "Chrom wait!" Lagging behind, Mark paused to catch his breath after what had transpired in the fortress. Turning round, he saw Sully, Stahl, and Fredereck already breaking through the lines of soldiers, wrapping around them as he had instructed them to, and the Plegian formations began crumbling. Smiling, the tactician could not escape the feeling of dread that had been with him since the beginning of the fight. Then, there it was. In the corner of his eye, a flash of crimson a distance away. Three figures were coming fast from the north, descending from across the river. Mark knew who the middle of the three men must be; the hooded figure that had haunted him since the arena, the one who had killed Philla and almost slain him. But this time, he was ready.

As they ran, it seemed that they were single minded on making their way to assist Gangral. A short while ago, Mark would've thought them out of reach. But with Miriel's teaching, he knew he could stop them. Aiming carefully, the tactician threw a globe of fire towards the leader of the pack. As it seared towards them, that crimson shadow seemed to notice, and leapt from the danger, leaving his allies in a less than fortunate situation. As the other two assailants burned, Mark made his way over to the remaining man. He launched additional flames towards the man, but they were avoided with ease as the figure pulled out a bow. Mark froze for a second, remembering the pain that had flowed through him back in the southern sands. But now he was more ready. He had had Virion loose his full quivers at him during is training, helping him learn to dodge and even deflect arrows. Taking a breath, the tactician strode forward calmly, before the man in front of him began to let missiles. In that instant, sword was drawn and flashing before him, knocking the many arrows away. What wasn't stricken flew by harmlessly or reflected off Mark's new breastplate. He reached this shade, and knocked the bow loose from his hands with wind. "Who are you?!" Mark stood with his sword out, pointed towards this stalker. Silent, head held down, the person merely extended their arms in a gesture of 'Does it matter?' Not amused, Mark continued to hold his bade toward the hooded figure, and pulled a tome of wind magic out of his robes with his other hand. With a nod, a gust blew the figure's hood from his head. The man, now clearly a man, had short, messy hair that was a dark grey. His pale skin was a contrast to his red lips, and all were dull in comparison to his golden, gleaming eyes. "Wh-…What are you?"

"Complicated." The man flicked his wrist and a long chain of metal fell from his sleeve and into his hand. With another quick motion, the links formed into a solid steel blade. Soon he was upon Mark, rapidly pressing him and forcing the tactician to be constantly moving and defensive. The strikes were as fast as any arrows he had been aiming towards Mark. Pretty soon, scratches and cut began to form on Mark's wrists and arms. Each parry became a half a step too slow, and soon Mark's breathing became labored. "You were never good at fightin', Mark." The lesser of the two bladesmen was being pushed slowly to the river north of the battlefield, far away from the actual fight itself. The dark haired man brought his blade decidedly along the Yllissian strategist's knee, and his leg gave way. Trying to stand with all his weight on one leg, Mark collapsed to one knee, sword dug into the ground. Looking up, the tactician saw the man circle him, blade dragging on the ground menacingly. A smile was across his red lips. "Looks like this is the end, Mark."

"NO!" Like a bolt of ivory, a pegasus crashed into Mark's view. Cordelia had flown over at full speed, catching the imposing man off guard. A shout was heard, the reason why was shown with Cordelia's pulling back. The man had a lance in his stomach, lodged with the force of a galloping pegasai. He took a few steps backwards in shock, inconvenience more than pain etched on his face, standing now perched at the bank of the river. Fueled with determination and adrenaline, Mark pushed off of the ground with his good leg and kicked the handle of the lance with his other. The force was enough the push the lance deeper but also upset the man's balance, plunging him into the river. The force was placed onto Mark as well, bringing him to lay on his back. He heard a splash and took it and the lack of blades in his body as a sign that the man was gone. Panting heavy, but also laughing slightly, he sat up gingerly to see Cordelia run towards him. "Mark! Are you alright? I saw you run off and I-…" She paused and straightened herself out. "…I came to report that Gangral has been slain. The battle is over."

* * *

So this is the first update in a long time. I actually went back and edited all of the chapters in this story, adding a lot to each in an effort to improve the story overall. So, if you're new, I hope you enjoyed it. If you're a subscriber for the story or me, please go back and reread each chapter. I promise I did my best to improve each both grammatically and content wise. If you feel strongly about this story, one way or another, please leave me a review and let me know what I've done well or poorly. And if you want more, go ahead and favorite and follow me or this story. Thankkkkkkssssss.


	9. Promotion

Not sure what we has doing here, Mark opened his novel from Sumia and continued where he had left off the previous night. Early in the morning, Chrom had told Mark it was of the upmost importance that he "Go to that one sitting room near the throne room and stay there for a bit." Now he was sitting there, obeying the Prince of Yllisse out of curiosity more than fealty. They had been in the capital less than a week, and Chrom's official ascension as leader of the country had been less than a week ago. Now, Mark had suspicion that his friend was planning to appoint him to some trivial official's position, as a director of military uniforms or something ridiculous like that. To be honest, he would enjoy the break. The stresses of being the small war band's tactician was starting to get to him. In a way, he hoped that Chrom wouldn't ask much of him.

There was a knock, and Mark shouted that he was inside. The door open, and revealed Stahl standing there, green armor shining with its new gold trim. "Well Stahl, Captain of the Left." Mark said with a tongue in cheek bow. "What can I do for you?"

"Come on, Mark. Chrom needs you to be a witness for some documents he's signing." The tactician rose, and followed his friend out of the room. Outside, he found Sully was also there, gold gleaming as well on her armor. For actions during the war with Plegia and before, the pair had each been promoted to Captain and given new armor to signify their posts. They stood at his flanks as Mark opened the double doors to the throne room, and he was met with a sight that mildly surprised Mark, considering what he was expecting wasn't far from this.

The throne room was filled with people on all sides, people who Mark had never seen before. Scattered among them were Shepards here and there, however many of the faces were unknown to him. On the other end of the room was Chrom, standing upon the elevated platform that held Yllisse's throne. He stood in regalia, not armor, but with Falchion at his side still. "Ah, my Lord. Looking fine today." Marked cracked, looking around to get a reaction where none was to be found. He cleared his throat and proceeded into the room, soldiers snapping to attention as he passed. Sully and Stahl outpaced him quickly, and stood to Chrom's sides. Mark continued to walk a little more slowly now, looking around for any kind of clue to what was happening. When he reached Chrom, his friend drew the blade that signified his house and his country.

"Kneel, Mark." Confused, Mark bent onto his left knee, and felt the blade rest on his right shoulder. "You have proven to be a brilliant mind for my army, as well as being composed of great moral fiber and possessing a drive that I have not seemed match in all of the kingdom. What I ask of you is not a light task or easy one. But do you accept it?" _What was he talking about? What position? It would be nice if someone had told him about this before._ Not to be embarrassed or embarrassing, Mark nodded, not lifting his eyes from the ground. Falchion lifted from his shoulder and found itself on his other. "Then, by my right as Prince of Yllisse, I name you Prime Minister. Rise now, Right Hand of the Kingdom." There was applause around him, but to Mark it was like the sound of glass shattering. _Minister? What's a minister do? Right Hand? Work? More effort?_ All these thoughts swirled through his mind as he rose, time around him seeming slower. Chrom clapped him on the shoulders and smiled at his friend and new Hand. "This is a good day, Mark. I can have you filled in on what you'll have to do during the reception." Mark nodded wearily as he turned around, to meet the waves of people coming to congratulate him.

* * *

Nergal was dead, his morphs disbanded. His body, still not yet cold, lay on the steps of the great chamber where he was fought. Mark stood over his tattered body, the life gone from the man's eyes. Finally, the fighting could be over. He leaned against the wall, taking a breath and looking for Eliwood with his Sight. There he was, surrounded by Lyn, Hector and Athos. The tactician was relieved to see his friends seemed to be as happy as he was they could put away their weapons. Mark blinked, and was staring again at the emerald floor of the Dragon's Gate. There, lying near Nergal's open palm, was a ring. It was cast in silver, and as Mark bent down to examine it further he saw there was a trio of gleaming gems that rested on the outside of it. Oddly compelled, he picked the ring up and turned it in his hands. It was a pretty thing indeed, and the amethysts shone in even the low light of the torches on the walls.

"Mark." At the sound of his name, the strategist jumped. As he turned, putting the ring without thinking in his pocket, he found Jaffar standing over the corpse of his former master. His knives were laid on the ground, and he was wrapping around himself a mantle that was covering his entire figure. "My debt is payed, Nergal is dead. I don't have a place in the army anymore." He approached Mark, the imposing man standing several inches taller than his comrade.

"You don't have to think like that, Jaffar. You could travel with me, or work for Ostia, or..." the Angel of Death held one hand up to stop the trail of words coming from the tactician's mouth.

"There's no place for me in the civilized world. I am a killing machine, and killing machines have no place in the world at large." He strode past Mark and began to walk down the steps. "I am disappearing from the known world. All I ask is you take care of Nino." He turned to look the man at the top of the steps. "Can you do that for me?" For a moment, silence between the two. Eyes were locked, until Mark heard footsteps coming from behind him. He turned to see Eliwood, coming towards him rushed.

"Mark, come on! We have trouble!" The tactician began to follow, but turned to speak a final farewell to Jaffar. But only the empty stairway met him as he looked.

"Farewell, Angel. Find peace." Mark broke into a sprint to join Eliwood. Soon, they caught up to Hector, Lyn and Athos. They group then strode up even more steps, until they reached a doorway and-…

Dragons. Three red, massive, evil looking dragons. Mark was frozen in place, a chill coming up his spine and winding back down it. Voices around him were muted, his vision was tunneled on the beasts in front of him. Even when Athos stepped forward and the dragons attacked, scorching the archsage. Only when there was a bright light near him was the trance of fear broken. He turned to see Ninian there, standing alive once again. He stepped back near Lyn, and watched as the young dragon girl focused her power and dispelled two of the three red giants in front of them. She collapsed, but she had only fainted. Now, it was their turn to face the last dragon left. Mark hoped they had the strength to pull it off.

* * *

Mark managed to slip away from the reception and its tedium. Too many stuffy nobles trying to get on his good side, and not enough of his actual friends. It was explained to him that the prime Minister, or Chancellor, was in charge of two facets of the government in Yllisse; diplomatic affairs and management of domestic affairs. "So basically," he had said, "make sure other countries don't attack us and don't let the country fall apart…great." He made his way to the tower of Ylisstol's palace where his stuff had been taken, and opened the door to his new room. He stepped in, stripped his coat, and threw it onto a chair that sat in the corner. His new room was larger than most rooms in the palace, with a large bed in the corner next to a bookshelf holding the tactician's growing collection of books. Chrom had told him it was traditionally the minister's room, but Emmeryn had never appointed a minister in her reign as Exalt. Mark came to a dresser in the corner and opened it to find a collection of more discreet clothes: shirts, pants, robes and other various gear. It took a minute for him to remove his breastplate, greaves and vambraces, before he changed his shirt and pants. As he closed the dresser and began to leave, he paused when his eyes caught a deep green hood hanging on the post next to the dresser. He snatched the cloak from its hanging place and clasped it around his neck. He admired himself in a nearby mirror for a minute, letting his new garb come over his arms and twist after him as he turned in place. Somehow, the earthy shade seemed proper draped from his shoulders.

He made his way quickly from the palace, evading guards as he exited so no one knew he had gone. Making his way through the streets of the city, Mark finally had a moment to take in sounds and sight of the capital at night. As he walked, he eventually found himself rounding a corner and faced a street full of laughter and color. He looked towards the post that was staked on the corner, and saw the word 'Bousset' carved into the sign on the stake. Fredereck had remarked once or twice about how his time as a beat guard conditioned him to hate Bousset. It was a street lit up to late into the night, with revelers and drunkards aplenty. Many a time he would have to wade into the mass of bodies to make arrests of stop a brawl. Sounded like a place to get lost for the night.

Each tavern down the street had lit stain glass to attract customers, illuminated by the lights inside. Images of women and flowers and other pretty things to get the drunk masses inside. Mark stopped when one that finally caught his eye; amethyst glass depicting a four legged beast with its head reared back. Mark studied the glass for a long while transfixed, before looking upwards to the sign that hung above the door, name that came out occasionally in lantern light.

 **The Purple Dragon**

Inside, the minister found a rowdy place with a quartet of bards playing on an elevated stage. On the air was the smell of ales, wines, along with the sweet sounds from the strings played on stage, and of course the breaks of laughter. Mark kept the cloak's hood up as he made his way to the bar. Behind the bar was a cutting figure; a fair but weathered face, with red hair tied behind in a ponytail and a goatee of the same ember shade. "Ah, hello friend. You're a new face around here. Out on a celebration like most of us are you?"

"And what is there to celebrate, sir?" Mark replied, doing his best to mask his voice behind a rasp he layered over his normal tone, keeping his head angled down.

"The land is at peace, finally. They say the Mad King is dead, and Plegia no longer wants Yllissian blood. And that, lad, is a worthy thing to celebrate." The man couldn't help but smile when he said this, reaching over to grab an empty pint glass on the bar and began to clean it out. "And happy, safe feeling people is good for my business. Good for the Dragon." He put the clean glass in front of Mark, who finally looked up to lock eyes with the cheery man. "Now, what is it I'm pouring for you tonight?" Mark only shrugged, as the bartender turned around for a moment, before returning with a tall bottle in his hand. He twisted the cork from the neck and poured its contents into the glass. "Talgera Red Ale, the best ale from the best county for ales." He slid the glass towards Mark, who took it and nearly choked when he drank it. The ale had a sharp, bitter sting to it, but once that subsided he found a better taste than the brews he had tried in the past.

"Thank you. How much do I..?"

"Don't worry about it tonight, lad. First round is on the owner tonight." The man extended his hand, which Mark took gladly. "Hunter Riptarian, at your service tonight and on any other."

Mark took his drink over to a table in the corner and took a seat. For a half an hour, no one bothered him as he drank the ale, and eventually lit his pipe for the first time in a few days. The light from the pipe played itself off his cape and hood, as he finally felt at ease after the happenings of the day. As he sat in relaxation, he didn't notice the woman approaching him until she was almost in his face. He looked up from under his hood to see a fair woman with indigo hair tied back, wearing clothes she seemed uncomfortable in. "Can I…sit with you?" The new minister lifted the hood away so he could focus on her face. It was Marth, or at least the woman who claimed to be named Marth. Seeing his full face, the woman didn't wait for confirmation before she sat down "I knew it was you. This is the first time I've seen you in here."

"And this is the first time I've seen you where you aren't either fighting us or saving one of us." Mark remarked as he put his pipe down. She gave a small smile at this, and seemed to relax in her chair. Hunter himself came to the table seconds later with a glass in his hand and put it in front of the blue haired woman. She took it and drank deep from it. "So. Gangral dead, Emmeryn avenged and Chrom the leader of the kingdom. Is this result satisfying for you?" The minister spoke out before drinking himself. Marth's eyes lit up at this, putting her glass down and sighing.

"Yes, for now. But my purpose here is not yet finished." She looked at the tactician with a slightly tilted head, a look of confusion on her face. "I heard that you were appointed minister earlier today." Mark nodded, but the look did not escape her face. "Strange. In my time, the position of Prime Minister was never filled." She shook her head and took another drink.

"Well, I guess something you helped us change spurred Chrom to choose me." Mark said through a drink of his own. "I sure didn't ask for this…diplomacy, politics…I swear some of the nobles at the reception were trying far too hard to get my hands in their own pockets."

"They tend to have nothing better to do, nobles. Play for power and sit on the power they have." Marth smiled. She reclined back in her chair, and Mark finally took her whole figure in; without armor she was slender, but not thin. Toned and trained, Marth had the marks of a mercenary, but still her speech and mannerisms carried an air of nobility about them. "Well, I do believe I'm ready for bed. Congratulations on your position." The woman abruptly stood from her chair and made her way coldly across the room and through the crowds before ascending a staircase. Pausing at he top, she turned to face Mark once again, and raised her hand as if to give a small wave, but the hand was quickly lowered as she abruptly turned down the hall.

 _What an eccentric performance._

* * *

 _As always , please review this and let me know how I'm doing and what you like and don't like. Thankkkssssss  
_


	10. New Beginnings

"Jaffar is gone. Never got on the ship, looks like." Matthew was sitting in a cot as Mark came below deck. The ship swayed as it returned to Badon port, and most of Eliwood's army was celebrating in the mess hall. Mark had escaped the excitement with hopes of catching some actual sleep before they all got on with their lives. "Can't find him anywhere." Matthew was holding a dagger in his hand, turning it in his hands and letting the lamp light reflect off of it.

"He said he was going to disappear. Going off the map, something about not having a place in the world at large."

"You're damn right he doesn't." Matthew still hadn't looked at his friend, still turning the dagger around in his palm as he spoke. "He killed Leila. He took away one of the only things I loved from me." He rose from the cot and turned to Mark, eyes fixed on the dagger still in hand. "I've thought of almost nothing since he joined than how I was going to finally kill him. And now he's gone. I'd have to spend months, maybe even years to find him now." His hand gripped the handle of the weapon tight, fist now shaking. But in an instant, the shaking ceased. With a sigh, the blade dropped to the ground with a clatter. The spies open hand rested calmly at his side as he finally locked eyes with Mark, steel grey meeting emerald green. "But I know it's not his fault. It wasn't a kill from pleasure, or anger, or passion, money or revenge. He killed because he was told to, no other reason than that. He was a tool used by another. And the man who ordered it is dead. Not by my hands as I would have it, but the man is dead." Matthew picked up his weapon and secured it in his sheath before walking past Mark. "My life both continues and begins anew when we step off this boat. I…hope you're still in that life, my friend."

"Matthew…" Mark's eyes became glossed with tears as his longtime friend went to join the party that was happening on the floor above. He came to rest in one of the makeshift beds set up in the room and sleep quickly found him.

When he awoke, several more bodies were around him in cots. The sun still was not coming through any of the portholes, and the lamps in the room were doused. Dry mouthed, the tactician rose from his rest and made his way through the dark to the stairway and up towards the mess hall. As he came into the dining area, the lamps were still lit, and at a table in the middle of the room was a pair of men talking with long stemmed glasses on the table in front of them. Pent and Canas were deep in their conversation when Mark walked in. Pent glanced away momentarily and caught sight of the tactician coming in. "Ah! The conquering hero!" Hs voice had an unusual joy to it as he stood from his chair and walked over to the tactician. "Glad to see you're finally awake." He came over and had a shoulder in each hand. "Come drink with Canas and I. We were just reminiscing about our adventures, now that everyone has survived."

"I'd love to, if you could find the wine to fill my glass." Mark smiled back at him, as he walked with an arm around the mage general back to the table. A half a bottle of wine sat on the table, and a third glass was quickly procured for the new conversation member.

"I was just talking with the mage general," Canas said as he lowered the glass from his lips "about the now passed Archsage's research, and the vast library the man had in his study. Which is now his." The druid moved his glass around as he spoke, clearly the bottle emptying culprit of the two. Mark drank from the glass and let the dry wine wake him up. "I asked him if I could move my research there."

"It is like I said, under the condition that none of the experiments involve open flames. Other than that you're welcome, Canas." Pent finished his drink and reached for the bottle and began to fill his glass again. "You're invited as well, Mark, if you wish." Pent threw out as he put the cork back into the bottle. Mark was halfway to seeing the bottom of his glass when he chocked slightly from the offer.

"R-really Lord Pent?" Mark said, clearing his throat and wiping his mouth. "Isn't the Archsage's collection mostly magical tomes?"

"Well yes." Pent laughed a bit at the tactician's reaction. "But there's a bit of history and a bit of old strategy. Beside, Mark, I see it in you. I see the spark." Mark look quizzically at Pent, and saw Canas behind him nodding in agreement with some enthusiasm before returning to his glass. "The spark of magic potential is in you Mark. You just need to work on it, and I can help. Erk's training is nearly complete and I could work with you."

"Your words are kind, General." Mark sighed as he filled his glass again. "But I must decline. My plans for after we depart this ship are set. I'm going to be going with the Caelin Company back to that march and reside there for a while." He saw the slightly disappointed look come across Pent's face, but he nodded and said he understood.

For another few hours the trio sat, drank and laughed. They talked about the Black Fang, the Seal of Shrines and the morphs they had encountered throughout the times after. Sometime during the conversation, Mark pulled the ring he had found at the Dragon's Gate from his pocket and began to turn it around in his hand, keeping the conversation going as he did. "Mark," Canas said, having switched to drinking water an hour ago, "What's that in your hand?" The tactician showed the dark magic practitioner the silver piece of jewelry, and it was quickly taken out of his hand by Pent.

"Well, this is an interesting piece." The silver haired man said, looking at the ring, examining the amethysts that were inlaid. "This is…well, it certainly looks like an old piece. I'd like to take a look at it further, crossing it with some of Athos' texts." Mark nodded and Pent put the gem in a pocket inside his robes. Daylight began to sneak down the stairs, dawn was upon them. The tactician bid the two a farewell, before coming up on deck to see the sunrise.

The sun reflected off the water beautifully as he ascended the stairs. He walked across deck and leaned against the rails of the ship and gazed out to the water. For a moment, he closed his eyes and thought of Lyn. There she lay asleep in his mind, a peaceful look on her face. Mark caught himself lingering on her image for more than a few seconds, before shaking it from his head. She was so beautiful to him. He wondered, for a long time, if she felt the same. The other day she had offered a place for him in Caelin and he had accepted without thought. Would that be the end of his travels? Would that be where he finally hung his robes until the day he died. Would she be the force that rooted him in place?

"I think, Khan Flavia, you'll find the terms of this alliance acceptable." Mark took a dreg from his pipe, before blowing the smoke off the balcony that sat with an excellent view above the packed arena. Six months of being Yllisse's prime minister had led him to his first diplomatic mission. The trip to Regna Ferox was hardly difficult, and the mission was a formality at best. The two nation's cooperation in the war against Plegia sealed alliance in battle bond and friendship. The scroll Mark now produced from the folds of his robes was merely an open declaration. One of the East Khan's guards approached and took the scroll from the dirty blond, and handed the treaty to his master.

* * *

Mark filled his glass again with wine, before offering the carafe to Lon'qu, who only shook his head as a response. Due to their experience and deeds in the Plegian campaign, many of the Shepards had been given good positions in both the Yllissian military and government. Mark had handpicked Lon'qu and Gregor to be his personal guard. While no one had made attempts on Mark yet, he felt it was better to be safe and have a pair of blades watching his back. But here he felt safe within Feroxian walls, and treated the trip more as a vacation. As Flavia read through the document in her hands, Mark scratched at the beard that was starting to come in on his face, and took a drink of wine. Gregor didn't need to be offered, as he sat across the balcony at the feasting table. Yllisse's peace had been solidifying gradually, thanks in part to Mark's actions as Minister. Most of the army had been converted for the time being to a service corp., rebuilding razed villages and repairing public works that had been damaged during the war. What's more, the strategist ordered surveyors out to each of the kingdom's duchys and marches to learn how much the local lords owned and, consequentially, how much each should be taxed. While it had made him somewhat unpopular among few of the lords, the information helped the healing process.

Flavia picked up a quill and quickly scratched her name onto the paper, before rolling it up and tossing it towards the minister. Mark had to lurch forward to catch the treaty, causing the Khan to laugh. "Oh, come on Mark. There's no need to be so stuffy. Just because you hold the office doesn't mean you have to fill the office every day." She stretched her arms to the air before walking over to the table covered with food. She returned with chicken and fruit on her plate, setting it down next to seat. "The alliance between us is finalized. Now can we enjoy the show?"

Below them, the empty arena began to buzz louder as the fights began again. Mark stood finally, knocking the ash from his pipe before moving towards the food table himself. "You look tired, Mark." The Khan's voice followed him to the table as he stood over the spread.

"Thank you for your input, Khan Flavia. I really hadn't noticed every morning when I looked in the mirror." He heard a snort behind him as he returned with a full plate. He began to pick around his chicken as Flavia sat next to him at the table overlooking the bloodshed below. "Next you'll probably tell me that smoking is bad for me?"

"Well it is," the Khan smiled, clapping Mark on the shoulder, "but that's not the point I'm trying to make. I just don't want you wearing yourself thin. Otherwise you're gonna be paper by the time you're ready to hang up your robe and retire from the whole politic game." Settling down? Mark didn't have time to think about that. The kingdom needed his efforts to get back to where it was before the war. That much he had promised to Chrom.

The arena below them cheered as victors stood over their opponents, being showered by praise and love. "I'll be sure to take your advice into consideration, Khan." A groan came from behind him as he felt two hands shove him forward, causing him to brace before he could fall out of his seat.

"Damnit Mark, its Flavia! Just Flavia. How many times do I…never mind." She groaned as she sat next to Mark. "Let's just enjoy the show."

* * *

The next day, the minister's caravan started south for Ylisstol. Mark remained in his wagon, reading a novel that Sumia had lent him about people who lived in the forest and mountains, when he felt Gaius finally take his seat across from him. "Glad to see you could finally make it." He placed his mark at the page where he stopped and shut it, paying full attention to the sugar fiend in front of him.

"You're the one that wants me trailing behind smokey." Gaius grunted as he pulled out a carrier case, opening it to reveal several rolled papers. "Making my stay in inns, not letting me near the arena. But I'm not gonna complain, no sir. Not at all." The Prime Minister took one of the documents out of the case and opened it. Inside was part of the information he had asked Gaius for; Ferox's treasury reports, tax figures, export and import numbers, all and more were contained in the data Gaius had collected while they were in the capital city. "Still not sure why you couldn't just ask Flavia for this stuff." Gaius added, checking his nails for dirt and giving sideways glances towards Mark. The strategist sighed and nodded, pulling a bag of pastries from the folds of his robes. The red head didn't wait to be offered before snatching the bag, opening it eagerly.

"Because then she would know we knew or were interested. Knowledge is powerful, especially when others don't know you have it." He smiled as the paper was placed back into the case, and the case placed on the floor. "I feel bad for sending you around the past half a year." The thief faintly recognized the apology and nodded in Mark's general direction as he continued to work through his payment. "After the kingdom is completely stable, I can instill the spy ring we need. Then you won't need to do as much, Gaius." Bag empty, Gaius began cleaning his fingers, mulling over Mark's words.

"So that means you'll need someone to train them though." The strategist nodded and Gaius leaned forward. "Well, I guess that means I'll be able to stay in one place at least. Lemme know when that day comes. Until then," the red head got out of the caravan and started off the beaten road, "there's a few favorite sweetshops I need to hit before I get back to Yllisstol!" After a few moments he was a dot on the forest line, then gone.

Mark hated acting this way towards Khan Flavia, going behind her back to get information strait from the primary source, but he wanted to be sure the numbers were correct. The Prime Minister leaned back and watched the countryside roll by, as they reached the river bridge that he and the Shepards had first crossed in their original Ferox visit. It felt so long ago, but the Mark of today was a much wiser and deeper man than he was that day. He owed it to Emmeryn, Chrom, and all the friends he had made here.

Hey everyone! So it's been a looooooong time since I updated, mainly due to school getting in the way. This may be the last update in a while OR I may update next week. We'll find out when we get there. But until then, review, favorite, and enjoy.


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